Black eyes and empty Bottles
by PP. Bunny
Summary: Kenny's father is a drunk. Stan's father drinks. Kenny's father hits him. Stan's father scars him much worse. Kenny heart dosn't need anybody but Kenny. Stan's heart struggles to heal from it's wounds. Slash Kenny x Stan


**From Zakuyoe's challenge.  
As a warning this is going to be dark**  
**Ya!**

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_Chapter I: Morning' Cycle_

My hands grip the cold white porcelain of the sink and I clench my fist around the edges so tightly that they grow as pale as the bones underneath the skin. Brushing my dirt streaked hair out of my scruffy face; I looked into my own blurred reflection in the cheap single-bulb lighting and cringe slightly at the horrid monster I see looking back from behind the cracked glass. My skin was a pale but not because I was skin, it was in my genes to be this fragile shade of white; I am an Irish boy.

Contrasting my ivory like skin was a multitude of different shades, ranging from a blemishing yellow to a terror-inducing purple. I look like a damn living corpse. (_brains...brains...brains_) They ran delirious sprints around my arms and chest; even trudging up into my slim pale neck. The only marks on my face was a grimly faded set of raccoon eye, given to my not by my bastard of a father, but from school. See on top of those inflicted on to me by my drunk-ass fucked of a father, I'm a bit of a klutz.

"KENNY GET JAE LAZY ASS OUT TA DA HOUSE!"

Mom (_bitch_) gotta love her.

She gets the shit kicked out of her regularly but she seems to forget every bloody, gruesome event by morning and is back to the same bitchiness as always. Funny how shit like that works. USN't it?

"KENNY YA HERE ME!"

With one last half hearted inspection I look over my mirror-image on last time before deciding that the bottle which had been thrown at my face last night Haydn't made a strong enough blow to cause a bruise. Although as I touched the area around my upper lip and nose I cringed, it wans't visible bruised was a better way to put it. Stepping off of the cold plastic flooring and on to the AstroTurf that carpeted my bed room, I placed my feet into converse that were practically rotting away with each step.

My pace slowed down as a I passed the half open door of my parents room, dim light spilled in from the hallway, making everything just visible within the monsters cage. The light hit at just the prefect angle across the bed that it let my eye's be burned out by the sight of my father's round pale ass. (_it looked like an unhappy full moon was rising above the arctic_) Holding back my risen bile, I see his jean from last night, my pack of cigarettes peeking out at me.

I weighed my options, life or nicotine, the choices a boy must make. Quickly reaching my slender, bony hand into the dark I pulled my pack out. Jackass Haydn't smoked a single one of my beautiful babies. Smirking to myself I practically skip out of the house and avoid my mom seeing that I had stolen my death sticks back.

It was December but the snow wans't falling a rarity for it being so close to Christmas, either way I wans't complain about my good fortune. Trudging through the light crisp snow I searched through my tattered jean's pocket for a match or a lighter. The brown pants let snow drift into the several rips that ran along the leg from my knee, nothing helpful there.

I slipped a hand into my orange Hood, it's obviously not the tiny ass one from when I was like ten, its faded orange with a black bio hazard across the front and a zipper splits the whole thing in half. (_i got it last summer from the salvation army; next to fucking goodwill that place is the shit_) As I searched my other pocket my hand felt the cool metal of my lighter and I grinned despite the pain in my nose. Pulling the slim Zippy out, I flicked it across the back of my hand and held the tiny blaze to my skin; let the flame dance on the smooth, burned skin.

"You know there are quicker ways to die, right?" A voice chuckled

The laughter causes my head to jerk upward, I quickly look up and only see nobody but I know its Damien hiding, I can recognize that voice of his anywhere; it's a bit high and girlish for a big senior in high school but he is the son of Satan so nobody says anything about it. Last guy who did that ended up getting pregnant (_no i don't mean he got his girlfriend pregnant, i mean he have birth to a goat_) Since the douche bag of darkness is still playing games, I go back to entertaining myself with my Zippy as I walk. My feet crunch against the snow as I walk forward and then all of a sudden I feel a heavy height pounce on to me.

"Good morning short stuff." I can feel his breath against my ear.

I growl in my throat, "Get off me ya Ass-clown."

"Ass clown?"

"Yep, I just called you a clown made of ass."

Damien just smirked, his thin lips not hiding the bottoms of his fangs; ever since puberty he's be gaining more demonic qualities like the longer teeth of the small black horns at his hairline. (_not to mention the tail, of wait, fuck_) He was known through out the school as King of the Goths, because no one became one of those conforming non conformist zombies without him (_pretty sure he took their souls_) and he organized everything they did. Which the funny thing about him being the king of them was that he probably could have been a linebacker for the Cow's, his thick arms crossed over his large chest and he cocked a black eyebrow at me.

"Well Shorty, ya gonna smoke or just stare at me?"

"Fuck you Damien," I snapped and punched his shoulder; I hate being reminded that I'm one of the shortest senior.(_I am a proud five feet, 6 inches and three quarters of an inch_)

The Goth king smirked and licked his lips "Wouldn't you like that?"

"Like father, like son." I chuckled as I headed into the cafeteria for breakfast. I never did manage to hear anything other then Damien choking on his own words.

Normally, because South Park is still a small, white bread town the students eat their first meals at home with their loving families so I get the whole place to my self and the lunch ladies give me some extra. I think they think I don't eat enough, not that it isn't true mind you but still there food is some of the best ever.Well after I walked out of the line, tray loaded with food, I saw that I wasn't alone today; there was an untouchable there in my booth today.

An untouchable was the student population's way of saying that (_they are scum_), a person is a freak or doesn't fit in anywhere (_understatement_), so they get pushed away and isolated. I looked at the untouchable and weighed my options; nobody was here so it's not like anybody would know if I ate with this guy, however the guy might take the meal to mean that he was no longer untouchable.(_clingy, something i avoid, in love and friends_)

"Fuck it." I muttered and headed towards the untouchable, "I never was one for listen to people anyway."

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